by Lynne Graham
‘Didn’t you?’ Her voice felt all strangled inside her throat.
‘That summer we were first together, I was in love with you. What else could it have been? That kind of madness that means you can’t bear to be apart for even a few hours?’ Christien rested shimmering golden eyes on her. ‘I wouldn’t admit it to myself but I had never felt for anyone what I felt for you—’
Her nose wrinkled and she made a frantic attempt to fight the tears threatening. ‘Oh Christien…’ she said thickly.
‘When Solange left you the cottage, I used it as an excuse to see you again in London. I had no need to make that a personal visit and I could have made more effort to discourage you from moving to Brittany—’
‘But I was so determined to make a new life here…I think that you weren’t the only one of us hiding from the truth—’
Christien spread graceful brown hands in an inconclusive motion. ‘Nothing went to plan then…but then I had no true strategy. Around you, I don’t think straight,’ he confessed with fierce reluctance. ‘I just needed to see you, be with you, make love to you, and that first time I did not even recall that Veronique was a part of my life!’
Tabby scrambled off the bed, crossed the carpet and closed her arms round him tight. She was satisfied for, to her way of thinking, he had not had a normal engagement with the other woman and she could not judge him for his lack of fidelity to a woman who had told him that he might do as he liked.
‘But I ended my engagement to Veronique immediately afterwards. I felt guilty but I didn’t hesitate,’ Christien confirmed.
‘Immediately afterwards?’ It was though yet another weight fell from Tabby’s troubled heart, for she needed to know that she could trust him.
‘I saw her in Paris and came back to Brittany that evening but you had already left the cottage. Unfortunately something foolish I said out of guilt to Veronique—that I was not thinking of marriage with you—very probably made her even angrier when she learned that I had in fact decided to marry you just as fast as I could.’ Christien volunteered with a grimace.
‘That’s right…at that point you were dreaming of refurbishing the cottage into a delightful residence for a convenient mistress…am I right?’
Beautiful dark golden eyes glinting with wariness, Christien finally nodded.
‘You see, I know you…I know how your mind works,’ Tabby warned him with newly learned assurance. ‘The idea of marrying me only came after you found out about Jake and when you realised I wasn’t up for the living-in arrangement—’
‘Can’t you tell when a guy’s ready to do anything to get you?’
‘Nope…I need it spelt out.’ Tabby was hardly breathing as she said it, for she was beginning to believe her wildest dreams had come true without her even appreciating it. It was the way he was looking at her.
Christien scooped her up and sat down on the edge of the bed with her cradled in his arms. ‘I love you, ma belle. I love you like crazy.’
Tabby heaved an ecstatic sigh. She had not even dared to hope and there he had been sneakily hiding his feelings from her. ‘You should have told me that ages ago—’
‘It took me a painfully long time to appreciate how I felt—’
Tabby gazed up at him with a dreamy smile. ‘I thought it was Jake…I thought you were only marrying me for him—’
‘No, he’s fantastic, but you are in a class all your own,’ Christien confided thickly. ‘I want to marry you to make you mine—’
‘What do you think I am…some trophy?’ Tabby teased.
‘My trophy.’ Framing her face with not quite steady hands, he tasted her lush mouth with a hungry fervour that threatened to blow her away.
Tabby quivered. ‘I love you so much,’ she finally told him.
‘You do?’ His charismatic smile flashed out and his beautiful eyes were tender on hers. ‘Even though I’ve screwed up on innumerable occasions?’
‘I like it when you screw up—’
‘You were supposed to tell me I don’t…feed my ego,’ Christien lamented.
‘Your ego is healthy enough—’
‘I’m mad for you,’ he breathed raggedly.
‘We’ll be married tomorrow—’
‘Tomorrow might as well be a hundred years away. I ache with wanting you—’
‘It’ll be a very exciting honeymoon,’ Tabby promised shamelessly, nestling close to provoke, really loving his desperation.
‘We could go for a drive, mon amour,’ Christien groaned. ‘Book into a hotel—’
‘No…your mother has me booked into a beauty salon for half of the day as it is—’
‘That’s stupid…you’re gorgeous just the way you are. Don’t let them cut your hair.’
Tabby glanced up to see Jake peering round the edge of the door at them.
‘Kissy stuff.’ Jake pulled a face. ‘It’s yucky!’
‘I think we should start as we mean to go on. Lock the door on him and let your nightie fall off again,’ Christien informed her huskily.
‘I’m worth waiting for,’ Tabby swore with a cheeky smile. She curved into the wonderful reassuring warmth and strength of his big, muscular body and, when Jake hurtled over to join them, gathered Jake in close as well. She was loved. She was loved by both of them, which just made her feel incredible.
Her wedding outfit was a two-piece composed of an embroidered and beaded fitted bodice the same rich green as her eyes and a flowing ivory skirt. An emerald and diamond tiara was anchored to her head, her diamond necklace was at her throat and her wedding present from her groom was the superb diamonds that hung from either ear.
Christien could not take his appreciative gaze from her. He led her up the steps and into the mairie for the civil ceremony as though she were a queen. The church blessing followed in the little chapel down the street. Holding hands, they posed for photographs afterwards, her eyes shining, his eyes resting on her with pride and a love he couldn’t hide.
The reception was held in the Ritz Hotel in Paris. Alison Davies and her boyfriend looked on in surprise as Tabby took all the luxury and the attention in her stride. Indeed, the bride’s bubbly personality and assurance were much admired and, in her radius, the groom was less cool than his reputation suggested. His less discreet relatives hinted that parental opposition had kept the young couple apart. Their guests began talking of the match as a ‘grande passion’. That Tabby was penniless and neither stick-thin nor a classic beauty had been noted. That Christien looked at his bride as though she were as irresistible as Cleopatra was also noted. That Tabby had succeeded where the much-disliked Veronique had failed was sufficient to ensure that she would become a great social success.
Before leaving the hotel, the bridal couple entrusted their son, Jake, to the care of his grandmother, Matilde. A limo whisked them to the airport where they boarded Christien’s private jet for their flight to a honeymoon hideaway in the Tuscan hills.
Only when the jet was airborne did Christien remove a letter from his inside pocket. ‘This was delivered to me just before the reception. It’s from my great-aunt, Solange—’
‘Solange?’ Tabby echoed in disconcertion. ‘How could it be?’
‘Solange wrote it the same day that she changed her will so that you could inherit the cottage. She instructed the notaire that her letter was only to be given to me in the event of our marriage.’
Tabby was challenged to translate the letter written in the old lady’s spidery handwriting.
Christien came to her rescue. ‘In opening, Solange apologises to me for leaving a part of the Duvernay estate outside the family—’
‘She does?’ Tabby exclaimed.
‘And goes on to congratulate me for marrying you, thereby reuniting the cottage with the estate again—’
‘Oh, that’s magic!’ Tabby was tickled pink. ‘Obviously you only married me to get the cottage back.’
‘Solange concludes by advancing the hope that we enjoy a long and happy life together
and states that she always knew we were made for each other.’ A rueful charismatic smile curved Christien’s handsome mouth. ‘She must have guessed even then that I loved you.’
Tabby’s eyes stung. ‘I wish I had,’ she muttered. ‘I’d have stormed past Veronique and confronted you that day. You’d have been too drunk to play it cool and you’d have admitted that you had seen Pete kissing me…and we’d have got it all sorted out there and then.’
With a sigh, Christien pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘I was a real smart ass in those days and I was fighting loving you. I’m more mature now—’
‘I suppose I was too young to get married then.’
With incredible tenderness, he kissed the sprinkling of tears off her cheeks. ‘I adore you. I appreciate you so much more now. Think of all the time we have ahead of us, ma belle.’
Her sunny smile began to blossom again and his own slow-burning smile broke out, stunning golden eyes lingering on her with intense appreciation. She found his mouth, dallied there with deliberate provocation, listened to his breathing fracture.
‘Make mad, passionate love to me,’ she whispered.
‘Hussy…’ Christien growled adoringly, and he carried her into the sleeping compartment because she was laughing so hard that she could hardly walk.
The Italian Boss’s Mistress
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
A TEAM had flown over to Naples to bring Andreo up to speed on his latest acquisition, Venstar.
Tensions were running high for there was not a single Venstar executive present who did not feel that his job might be on the line. The ruthlessness that distinguished Andreo D’Alessio’s brilliance in the business world was a living legend.
‘This should help you to fit faces to the senior staff when you come over to visit us,’ one of the directors said with a rather nervous laugh as he passed over a company newsletter adorned with a photograph of key personnel.
Andreo D’Alessio studied the front page with keen dark eyes. Only one woman featured in the line-up and he only noticed her in the first instance because she messed up the picture. She was very tall and her stooped and self-effacing stance shrieked all the awkwardness of a very skinny baby giraffe striving in vain to hide its overly long limbs. Heavy framed spectacles dwarfed her thin, earnest face. But what had caught Andreo’s attention was her pronounced untidiness. Stray riotous curls stuck out from her head hinting that her hair was in dire need of a good brushing. His frown deepening, he went on to note that her ill-fitting suit jacket was missing a button and the hem on one leg of her shapeless trousers was sagging. He almost shuddered. The epitome of cool elegance himself, he was less than tolerant of those who offended his high standards.
‘Who is the woman?’ he enquired.
‘Woman?’ Andreo was asked blankly and he had to point her out in the photograph before his companions made the necessary leap in understanding.
‘Oh, you mean…Pippa!’ a Venstar executive finally exclaimed as though challenged to recognise the reality that the senior staff actually harboured a female in their ranks. ‘Pippa’s our assistant finance manager—’
‘You don’t tend to think of her as being a woman…has a brain like a calculator. An academic high-flyer who thinks of nothing but work,’ a director proclaimed with appreciation. ‘She’s absolutely dedicated. She hasn’t taken a single holiday in three years—’
‘That’s unhealthy,’ Andreo cut in with disapproval. ‘Stressed and exhausted employees operate below par and make mistakes. The lady needs a vacation and HR should have a word with her about smartening up her slovenly appearance.’
Jaws dropped. Paunches were sucked in and jackets smoothed down for none of the men was quite sure which imperfections might put one at risk of attracting the clearly very dangerous label of being ‘slovenly’. An uncomfortable silence fell. Slovenly? Was Pippa slovenly? Nobody had ever really looked at Pippa long enough to have noticed one way or the other. That she was an economics prodigy and very efficient was all anybody had ever cared about.
Still scanning the picture to note the level of personal care as displayed by the male contingent of the line-up, Andreo found yet more scope for censure. ‘I don’t believe in the concept of dressing down because it doesn’t impress clients. I don’t want to see jeans in the office. A smart appearance implies discipline and it does impress. This man here could do with a haircut and a new shirt.’ He pointed out the offender in an impatient tone. ‘Attention to self-presentation is never wasted.’
Almost every man in the room decided to go on a diet, get a haircut and buy a new suit. Andreo, all six feet five inches of him, after all, could be seen to practise what he preached. Lean, mean and undeniably magnificent in a to-die-for Armani designer suit, Andreo was an impressive enough sight to inspire the younger men with an eager desire to emulate him. Ricky Brownlow, however, who was far too vain of his blond good looks to believe himself in need of either a diet or a haircut, concealed a self-satisfied smile. He had just worked out how he could promote his current lover over Pippa’s head without attracting undue criticism.
‘The HR department also needs to set new targets. I want to see a very rapid improvement in Venstar’s abysmal record of promoting women to executive level,’ Andreo concluded.
When her immediate superior, Ricky Brownlow, invited her into his office and broke the bad news, Pippa was betrayed into a startled exclamation. ‘Cheryl…is going to be the new finance manager?’
Ricky nodded in casual confirmation as if there were nothing strange about that development.
Cheryl Long? The giggly brunette who currently acted as her junior was now to become her boss? That bombshell sent Pippa into severe shock. After all, she herself had been Acting Finance Manager for almost three months and she had had high hopes of the position being made permanent. Until that moment she had had no idea that Cheryl had even applied for the job.
‘I thought that I should let you know before HR informed you through official channels,’ Ricky added in the tone of a man who had gone out of his way to do her a favour.
‘But Cheryl has hardly any qualifications and only a couple of months of experience in the section…’ Pippa was quite unable to conceal her astonishment.
‘New blood keeps the company fresh and sharp.’ Ricky Brownlow frowned at her in reproof and a painful flush lit her fair skin.
A slender young woman with shaken blue eyes and vibrant auburn curls scraped back from her brow and held tight by a clip, Pippa walked back to her desk. She could have taken losing out to a superior candidate, she told herself urgently. But was she just being a bad loser? Shame at the fear that she might be that petty consumed Pippa, who suffered from a conscience more over-developed than most. Self-evidently, she decided, Cheryl Long had talents that she herself had failed to recognise.
The animated buzz of dialogue around Pippa reminded her of the party being held that evening to welcome Andreo D’Alessio and she suppressed an exasperated sigh. She had never liked parties and she liked work social occasions even less. However, now that she had been turned down for the job that she had naively assumed was in the bag, she had better make an appearance at the celebrations lest other people start thinking that she begrudged Cheryl her good fortune.
Cheryl was about to become her boss. Pippa swallowed the thickness building in her tight throat. For goodness’ sake, had she screwed up somewhere so badly that she had blown her own promotion prospects right out of the water? If that was the case, why hadn’t she been told and at least warned of her mistake? Cheryl was going to be her boss. Cheryl, whom Pippa had had to be rather stiff with on several recent occasions for her incredibly long lunch breaks a
nd shoddy work? Cheryl, who seemed to spend half the day chatting and the rest of it flirting with the nearest available male? Cheryl, who was mercifully on leave that day…
Pippa sank deeper and deeper into shock. Hothoused as she had been from preschool level right through to university, and always expected to deliver exceptional results, failure of any kind threw her into an agony of self-blame and self-examination. Somehow, somewhere, she was convinced, she had fallen seriously short of what was expected of her…
‘I wish he was more into publicity and we had a better photograph of him,’ one of the project assistants, Jonelle, sighed in a die away voice that set Pippa’s teeth on edge. ‘But we’ll see if he lives up to his extraordinary reputation when we see him in the flesh tonight—’
Her companion giggled. ‘He’s supposed to have bought his last girlfriend a set of diamond-studded handcuffs…’
Pippa had no need to ask who was under discussion for Andreo D’Alessio’s exploits as an international playboy, business whizkid and womaniser were very well documented for a male who went to great lengths not to be photographed. Her soft full mouth curled in helpless disgust. The man that offered her diamond-studded handcuffs as a gift would find himself skydiving without a parachute. But then no man was ever likely to offer her diamond-studded sex toys of any description, and very grateful she was too not to be the type to attract that kind of perverted treatment! Just listening to another female agonise in fascination over a male set on reducing her sex to the level of toys for fun moments made her feel ill.
‘I bet he’s an absolute babe.’ Jonelle had a dreamy look on her pretty face. ‘Hot stuff—’
‘I bet he’s small and rather round in profile just like his late father,’ Pippa inserted with deliberate irony. ‘And the reason that Andreo D’Alessio doesn’t like publicity is that he loves the rumour that he’s much bigger and better looking than he really is.’
